


What We Can Never Understand

by The_Dreamers_Quill



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Gen, General Washington's 5-Star Parenting, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Washingdad, Washingdad adopted Alex, What Was I Thinking?, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dreamers_Quill/pseuds/The_Dreamers_Quill
Summary: In a universe where he lives to see the duel, George Washington hears about his son's death at the hands of Aaron Burr.Angst ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I was going to do a happy oneshot starring Washingdad and Hamilson, but I thought: HEY! WHY NOT MAKE THEM SUFFER INSTEAD!

George Washington sighed, laying back in his chair as he idly leafed through his mail, enjoying the cool morning air coming from the open window. He sipped a cup of coffee as he did so, sorting through his letters at a relatively slow pace.

A letter from Adams, one from Jefferson, a scathing message from General Cornwallis, yet another letter from Adams, and a letter from Burr later he was left with only the newspaper to go through. Oh, and that one other letter he currently clutched in his hand, written in the handwriting of one Elizabeth Washington. Alexander’s wife. He would read that one after reading the morning’s paper, he decided as he set it on the coffee table in front of him.

He wondered how Alexander was doing, and hoped that he was well. Maybe he would invite him over for dinner one night, and ask him if he would like to come visit him at his estate. That would be fun, and a relaxing break for the both of them.

Little did he know, that would never happen.

Smiling to himself at the thought of seeing Alexander, he held the newspaper up closer to his face, so that he could actually read it. The words printed in the bold, black lettering, accompanied by a picture of his son, completely destroyed whatever notion he had of seeing Alexander again, for now it would never be possible until he passed on.

**Alexander Washington-Hamilton Shot and Killed in Duel With Aaron Burr!**

George froze, looking at the paper with a grief-stricken expression, feeling his heart break into little tiny pieces.

_His son. His sweet, intelligent son was dead. The son he had fought with on the field of battle, that he would die for without hesitation. The son that had worked with him closely, that he had tried to protect and love to the best of his ability._

He. Was. Dead.

The thought sunk in, and he broke down for the first time in years without any shame, feeling the warm tears flow freely over his cheeks as his whole body trembled. The newspaper was clenched tightly in his hand, so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

“Oh, Alexander…” He murmured, putting his head in his hands as he mourned for his son. Whom he would never see again. At least, not until he himself passed on, hopefully in a less violent manner.

He looked at the letter from Eliza, and noticed that there was another one beside it, written in Alexander's hand. His eyes widened, and he picked it up gingerly, as if it were a long lost treasure. A treasure that he vowed to cherish forever, and not open until he had recovered from his grief.

Sighing sadly, he slid the two letters into his coat pocket, and decided to go up to his room and immediately change into a black outfit, the color of mourning.

You will see him again, a voice inside his head told him, sounding an awful lot like Jefferson when he was stating something obvious.

Shut up, he told the voice, clenching his teeth and walking up the steps to his room.

That night, George tossed and turned in his bed, while Martha slept peacefully beside him, blissfully unaware of Alex’s death due to the fact that she had not read the morning news. He was dreaming, and a rather terrible dream it was too...

_Alexander and Burr stood across each other on a field, pointing their guns at each other and glaring at each other with expressions of utter hatred. George tried to run forward to intervene in the duel and stop his son from getting killed, but his feet were literally glued to the grass. Helplessly, he could only watch as the two seconds began the countdown, and Alexander raised his pistol toward the sky. Burr shot before Alex could dodge it, and his son crumpled to the ground, a bullet now stuck right in between his ribs._

_“NO!” George cried out, trying his hardest to move his feet. But they were still stuck to the earth, and he couldn't move. Af all._

_“WAIT!” Burr shouted, and George glared at him with daggers in his eyes as his world faded back into his bedroom._

The aged president sat up, trembling and trying his hardest not to sob out loud, for that would wake up Martha. Still shaking, he slid quietly out of bed, his eyes red and cheeks pale. He walked downstairs, trying to keep the tears at bay so as not to wake Martha. She could not see him like this.

“I need some water.” He muttered to himself, still shivering from witnessing his son’s final moments in the dream. It was truly unnerving and saddening, watching it but being unable to help. It shook him to the very core.

George walked into the kitchen, and leaned on the table in an attempt to steady himself, for his grief was making him rather unsteady. He pinched himself, to make sure he was awake-

“Dad.” The voice that reached his ears sounded an awful lot like Alexander, but it couldn't be. Because Alexander was _dead_. He must be dreaming.

But somehow, he knew he wasn't.

“Pa.” There it was, that voice again. He shook his head, unshed tears forming in his eyes, and looked up, stopping dead (no pun intended) when he saw… no way. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

The ghostly form of his son stood before him, gazing at him sadly. He looked younger than he had been when he died, and was wearing a black coat. The same one George had seen Alexander wearing in that dream. A gaping bullet hole rested on Alex’s ribcage, causing George to growl at the reminder of his death. He stared at Alexander, jaw agape.

“S-son?” He could barely manage to get out, his voice cracking. He was here, he was actually here. But he was so close, and yet so far at the same time. “Is that you?”

“I missed you.” Alexander whispered, a lopsided grin on his face as he looked at his father. That damn grin… he knew it well. Knew it like the back of his hand. But anyways... Alex missed him. He came back to see him.

“I missed you too, son.” Was all George could say, taking a step toward him so that they were directly looking at each other’s. He couldn't even scold his son for letting his impulsiveness take hold of him and rising up to meet the challenge of the duel, the challenge that had gotten him killed, like he wanted to. He just stared at him in shock, feeling his heart break, the temptation to hug him getting stronger with each passing second.

Finally, he let go of his self-control, and lunged forward, attempting to pull Alexander in a hug that would have knocked him onto the floor had he been alive. He gasped as he felt himself fall through Alexander, luckily steadying himself before he could hit the floor but still feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. Alexander looked at him, tears in his eyes.

“Pa, take your time. I'll see you on the other side.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe
> 
> Feedback in the comments below!


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